Lights, Camera, Cue the Stress
by MorphManiac
Summary: [Kiss Me Kate] The musings of a stage manager.


((Author note: This is a small one-shot I wrote following the end of my school musical, Kiss Me Kate. I was assistant stage manager, and the only girl on stage crew. Neglecting the fact that the actual stage manager wasn't that…effective, I had a marvelous time. After noticing a lack of quality musical fics, I wrote this. Special thanks to Silver Meteor, who read this and gave it a title…though it WAS spelled wrong. Next update: WRAA))

((Disclaimer: Kiss Me Kate belongs to Cole Porter…I think. I'm just borrowing Ralph))

((Dedication: To Silver Meteor, chorus person #6, for noticing the large holes in KMK and debating them with me; and to SP, for his inspiration through his role as Ralph))

"_So…Kiss Me Kate!"_

"_Caro!"_

"_And twice and thrice!_

"_Carissimo!_

"'_Ere we start!"_

"_Bello!"_

"_Living in paradise!"_

"_Bellisimo!"_

"Warn 66," murmured a voice backstage.

"_So, kiss me, Kate!"_

"_Presto!"_

"_Darling, angel divine!"_

"_Prestissimo!"_

"_For now thou shall ever be--"_

"_Now I shall ever be--"_

"_Now thou shall ever be--"_

"_Now I shall ever be--"_

"_Thine, thine, darling, mine! And I am thine! And I am thine! All…thine!"_

Backstage, Ralph was busy watching the stage for his visual cue. There was the kiss…and that ridiculous donkey. "Okay…close curtain. Cue 66." The curtain closed, and the work lights came on as everyone rushed offstage for curtain calls. After confirming everyone's presence offstage, he gave the next cue, and the curtain opened. More to himself, he ran through the procedure out loud.

"Okay, dancers and chorus…bow…good, okay next, second call, all principals…bow. Now Petruchio and Katherine…close show curtain…bow to each other. Thank the orchestra…good job, orchestra. Cue 68, blackout."

Ralph sighed. Another opening, another show indeed. This one had been an ordeal. Between the ad-libbing, the dancer fiasco, and the ridiculous "aides," Ralph was surprised he hadn't died of a heart attack tonight.

Few people realize how much stress stage managers go through before each show. Most cast members don't understand—if you aren't onstage, there's no reason to be nervous. But Ralph had a right to be nervous. With as many cues as this show had (and many of them visual cues), anything could go wrong. Ralph laughed at this thought. And of course, he thought with a grin, nothing had gone wrong during this show.

He held the second leg as the stagehands moved the Minola house backstage. He appreciated them so much, the crew. No one realized how much work they went through on such little pay. It was a miracle they were getting paid at all, considering how much they had to pay actors—Fred, in particular.

It wasn't that he didn't like Fred; Fred was a likeable person, hardly anyone hated him, except Lilli. And now even she loved him again. No, the problem with Fred was his ego. Fred was, in stage terms, a diva. He thought that just because he was the leading actor, director, and producer, he could walk over everyone. Well…maybe that did constitute a little bit of praise. But just because Fred rewrote Shakespeare didn't mean he was as great as the Bard. Anyway, Ralph didn't need to count the number of times he wanted to slap and hug Fred and the exact same time. In a metaphorical sense, of course.

Stage managers rarely had assistants, relying instead on the curtain man and lighting and sound board. They were the ones who knew the stress—the actual stress, not just butterflies—Ralph faced before each show. He had known most of the people on crew for a long time, especially the curtain man. But that was just business. However, Ralph recalled a previous conversation with an assistant stage manager, who was in charge of sets at the time. They were painting pots grey as opposed to their current brown; Fred insisted they needed stone pots instead of clay ones. Ralph supposed it was this little fact that caused him to remember the incident.

"Ever wonder why we even bother?" the assistant had asked.

"Bother with this?" Ralph had answered.

"No, bother with the weather. Yeah, I'm talking about this." He gestured around the shop to emphasize his point.

"I guess it's because no one else will."

"Ah, the typical 'someone's gotta do it, might as well be us'? That's show biz for ya."

Ralph had nodded in return.

"I guess…we don't get _any_ recognition for what we do. None. I leave this theater and people say to me, 'wasn't that great?' I'm sick'n'tired of it, Ralph."

Ralph remembered very clearly setting his brush down and turning to the man.

"You have to understand that part of being on crew is getting too little recognition. Just like being on pit is too many rehearsals. Like being on cast is getting too much recognition." He paused. "The only reason I do this anymore is because I know without us, the cast and pit are no where. Without us, this show doesn't run. Course, you could say the same for cast and pit, and you know that once they walk on that stage, there's not much we can do. But in the middle of performance, when something goes wrong? No matter how trivial, who do they come to? Us. And that's the reason I bother."

Actors would be actors, Ralph mused. They would always be the same. And no matter how wrong a show went, Ralph knew he would do it forever. It was just what needed to be done.


End file.
